My Friend the Partridge 
. Memories of New England Shooting 
By S. T. Hammond 
(Continued from page 135.) 
M Y boy accompanied me one day to assist 
in the capture of a grouse that had 
bothered me not a little by taking flight 
before I could get near enough for a shot. Its 
favorite resort was an alder run, between some 
heavy timber and an impenetrable swamp to a 
hill. 
It always flew to a place where it was per¬ 
fectly sate, for it was impossible to follow. 
On this occasion I stationed the boy at the 
edge of the river near the upper end with in¬ 
structions to wait there a certain time, until I 
had taken position at the lower end near the 
swamp, when he was to beat down the run to 
me. In fear that he would not await the proper 
time, I gave him my watch so that he should 
make no mistake. I then made a wide detour, 
and arrived at my chosen position, feeling sure 
that at last I had the best of this preternatually 
wise bird. I had been on guard but a short 
time, when I heard it rise some distance above, 
and with a firm grip on the gun and a feeling 
in my heart that this was to be the end, I turned 
and saw it going in the opposite direction; but 
this was not all, as I learned when I returned 
to my boy. He was in the thicket, diligently 
searching for something, which I learned was 
my watch, that in the excitement of the moment 
he had hurled with all his force at the bird as 
it flew past him. Although we hunted long and 
faithfully for the lost time peace, it was never 
found. 
Shooting Coincidences. 
A congenial companion adds greatly to the 
pleasure of a day afield. As memory harks back 
through the long vista of years I am profoundly 
grateful that I have been so singularly blessed 
in this respect. As I realize that these memories 
can never be wrested from me so long as life 
shall last, the coming days when the easy chair 
shall claim me for its own are shorn of their 
terrors, and deep down in my heart is unut¬ 
terable joy in the bright treasures so beautifully 
stored for time of need. 
The first congenial spirit that came to me was 
a very early friend of m^ shooting career. 
Charles was nearly my age, but I had three 
seasons the advantage of him so far as field 
sports were concerned. We became acquainted 
in early summer and were soon firm friends. 
So well did I perform my part that he was nearly 
as anxious for opening day as myself. He 
proved to be an apt scholar, and, before the 
second season was over, he could shoot as well 
as I. 
He had acquired a wonderful knowledge of 
woodcraft so far as the hunting of the partridge 
was concerned. One of Charley’s prominent 
characteristics was an insatiable desire to take 
a rise out of some one; to make them believe 
that things were not what they seemed; to 
prophesy unexpected events that always hap¬ 
pened to him; to tell of wonderful dreams that 
always came true—all to the deep mystification 
of everyone and to the great delight of himself. 
I have a vivid recollection of a mutual attempt 
in this line that afforded me unbounded satis¬ 
faction at the time. I never recall the incident 
that a large share of that feeling does not come 
back to me. 
We were after partridges, and hitching our 
team at the foot of a little hill we entered an 
alder run, and soon had a large covey going 
in every direction. Following the course that 
most of them took, we came to an opening when 
Charley halted, and pointing to a patch of low 
sumac more than fifty yards from cover, assured 
me that every bit of cover like that was pretty 
sure to hold a partridge, and so apparently sin¬ 
cere were his words that I came very near think¬ 
ing that he really believed it. As I was always 
ready to investigate any statement made by him 
we went to the place. We flushed a bird which 
flew in his direction, and as he gathered it, his 
“I told you so; I never knew it to fail” was 
so sincere that almost every one would have 
been forced to believe that this was “honest 
injun”;but so deeply had I studied his idiosyn- 
qracies that I knew almost as well as he did 
that he had seen the bird alight there. I said 
nothing of this, however, and gave him lots of 
taffy about his great knowledge of the habits 
of the bird, until I felt satisfied that he was sure 
that there was one on me. 
Now, when anything of this nature is going 
I very much dislike to remain in debt for any 
length of time and—thanks to the inspiration of 
my guardian spirit—some of these things occas¬ 
ionally come my way. 
When we returned to the wagon for lunch we 
seated ourselves by the side of the road, he upon 
a rock, while I took possession of a large stone 
that jutted from the wall some eight or ten feet 
above him. Not more than twenty feet beyond 
us was the mouth of a large culvert that crossed 
the road. When nearly through with our lunch 
I saw a partridge with stately step approach and 
fearlessly enter the opposite mouth of the cul¬ 
vert. Instinctively I reached for my gun, know¬ 
ing that she would soon appear at our end, but 
before I had my gun in hand the aforesaid guar¬ 
dian spirit inspired me to open my mouth, and 
in a surprised tone and manner I exclaimed, 
“How like a spot in New Hampshire where, 
when eating lunch, a partridge rose nearly at our 
feet.” 
Just then the bird rose and flew up the road, 
and as I doubled it up I continued my narrative 
without a break—“and I laid her in the middle 
of the road.” 
Putting my gun down I arose, and with every 
indication of surprise that the guardian forced 
upon me I exclaimed: “That is the most re¬ 
markable coincidence that ever came to me.” 
A furtive glance at my companion convinced 
me that the partridge in the clump of sumac had 
been paid for, with lots to spare, for a more 
surprised looking individual I never saw. With 
eyes and mouth wide open he stood there, the 
color faded from his cheeks, and actually tremb¬ 
ling as he faintly ejaculated, “Good heavens!” 
When the dog brought the bird I hesitatingly 
reached for it, and then withdrew my hand as 
though I feared the thing was uncanny; but finally 
I took it, and with trembling voice I exclaimed: 
“It is all right, Charley, and a truly partridge, 
and I don’t believe there is anything supernatural 
about it.” 
This little episode broke him all up for the 
remainder of the day, for I could plainly see 
that neither his mind nor gun was on the birds. 
When we returned to the wagon at night he ' 
picked up the bird and acknowledged that he still 
felt a bit creepy. 
A Grouse in a Stone Pile. 
The late Col. Isaac Arnold, of the ordnance 
department, was a most agreeable companion in 
the field, especially when we were after par¬ 
tridges. He dearly loved the pursuit of the 
gamy bird and was fairly well informed as to 
many of the details that are so necessary to . sue- . 
cess, when difficulties arise and unforeseen and 
unexpected troubles come to the front. He was 
one of the few sportsmen it has been my good 
fortune to meet who fully agreed with me that 
the first bird- found should be followed to the 
end. Of course the wind up is not always a 
feather in our cap, for our wise bird very often 
leaves us starving with wide open eyes at the 
steep impassable hillside, or the impenetrable 
swamp with nothing to cheer us but thoughts 
of what might have been had it only gone in 
some other direction. 
Among the many pleasant recollections of mv 
friend there is one day that often comes back 
to me with ever renewed pleasure. We drove 
in the morning to the home of a friend who 
lived right in the midst of some of my favorite 
covers, and hitching the horse at the shed, we 
started for the covers with the good wishes of 
our friends who gave us detailed directions to 
several points where we would be sure to find 
birds. 
Our first beat was through an old pasture that 
had been long neglected and grown up to birches 
and alders, making an ideal place for birds. 
Working along one edge the dog swung to the 
right and struck a faint scent, but could not 
